


chains stretch (but are never broken)

by peachpreach



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst and Smut, Love philosophy, M/M, Polyamory, Spit Roasting, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest, Twins, art classes drama, one jeon wonwoo is good two are better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22031926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpreach/pseuds/peachpreach
Summary: hansol's heart is broken in two, but none of the halves belong to him.he kisses marble just to remember that beloved lips are always cold.
Relationships: Chwe Hansol | Vernon/Jeon Wonwoo
Kudos: 11





	chains stretch (but are never broken)

for hansol, there has been always something wrong with the whole idea of having someone completing you. the whole concept of every single one living like only a half of human being for the great part of their lives has made him wonder why they were made in that unfair way - the planet full of “halves”, desperately looking for someone who would end them. 

  
hansol has a nature thinner than gossamer hung from one maple to another in the alley leading to the main building of the art school. with the leaves falling down in the embrace of autumn, which has come from the north, his soul falls asleep surrounded by fading beauty. his steps are silenced by the leaves bed under his slender feet garbed in leather shoes. the dull, overcast skies hide him from the weak lying sun, from its deceitful warmth stealing his charming blush. 

  
the art school’s doors are heavy, like the past, looming as a sword of irresistible fate - you were cut in two with this blade at your birth, made endlessly lonely.   
empty halls imprisons souls full of tragedies and inspirations. pale curtains flying to the ceiling, the stone-cold air shrinking in the chest - the school is more like a tomb for sacrificed dreams of those who survive the criticism of teachers and evil jokes of mates. hansol once saw a canvas covered with sticky bleak oil - from corner to corner, looked very much like blood, and through temerarious brush strokes he saw two eyes full of immortal sorrow. 

  
in these cryptic walls he has met them on one september afternoon - and this moment is more alive in his memory than any other part of it. this doomed afternoon resurrects in most vicious details, tearing hansol’s soul apart: where they seated, face half-hidden by canvases, their eyes - so alike, equally dark and piercing, cups with cooled coffee - wonwoo could dip his brush there instead of the painting jar and drink it without any knowing.

wonwoo was made out of winter mornings and hard drinks, of poetry anatomy and facts about scandalous murders. he was tall, wide-shouldered, his hands were strong enough to lift hansol off the ground like a feather. hansol could recognize his kisses - lips cracked with the cold, bleeding with dead tenderness of his heart belonging to the birds’ claws.

wonsoo... was different.

same tallness, same eyes and shape of lips, same mole under the right ear - but different. his hands were gentle, but he could sting you with words, he could drink hansol’s soul like a cheap wine, could rule him like a marionette. the lines of his body - holy heaven, hansol remembers them so well - were way smoother than his twin brother. wonwoo was cut off the ice aged thousands of years, and wonsoo was gathered from stardust, radioactive and still warm, but hopelessly dead.

  
\- you’re late today, - jisoo greets hansol with a smile. hansol takes his clothes off in a habitual manner - he did it hundreds of times. a coat, a scarf, a shirt, shoes, trousers, socks, hair pulled away recklessly, finally, underwear - all falls on the chair.   
hansol steps in the center of the room, in the circle of artists - most of them stare at hansol’s body like they never saw themselves in the mirror before. hansol doesn’t care. he reaches the statue and climbs on the podium shamelessly. memories haunt him: in this class they were working a lot. hansol throws a glance on the places in front of the windows, where were twins’ beloved places. the marble of the statue is cold, like the aftertaste of nights they used to spend together. three bodies weaved in one silhouette - hands holding hand, feet crossing feet, lips meeting each other constantly. hansol freezes in the pose. jisoo nods - everything is perfect. hansol bows his head closer to the statues’ lips, letting himself drown in the memories.

  
\- which one you choose? - asked wonsoo cheekily. they were flirting all over the week, on the extra hours - hansol agreed to stay as long as they wanted him to. twins drew dozens of sketches of him - some of them were screaming of their affection to him.  
\- for what? - asks hansol. he was naked in front of them for hours, but, suddenly, the process of dressing up seemed embarrassing.  
\- for a date.  
hansol turned towards them, casted an intent glance on every of them, pretending that he _had a choice_.  
\- both.  
\- both?! how dare you, we’re not of that kind of people...

  
and, indeed, _he had no_. he, hansol, who rejected the idea of “halves”, who made him whole on his own, had to acknowledge the fact, that maybe... just maybe - he was not even a half. he was _one third_.

  
\- of what kind of people? incapable of respecting other people’s choices?  
twins chuckled. of course, they knew. they knew it all the way. 

  
\- hansol, the hand, - jisoo’s voice grabs him out of the lake of past. hansol puts his hand on the statues’ cheek and encounters with unwanted tears in his eyes: the statues’ face is blurred, his eyes are stung. - are you okay?  
\- i’m fine.  
hansol stares blindly at the marble eyes. their dates were dark tails. wine and starry skies, bridges and dances across the empty streets altogether. but their nights... 

  
\- i want... i want both of you.   
\- hansol...   
\- i won’t stand any other ways. i want to belong to you, _both_.  
\- hansol, you’re drunk.  
\- is this a surprise? it was your desire to see me drinking the whole bottle!  
\- shh, don’t be nosy, our neighbors are nervous.  
\- are they annoyed by moans? do you fuck someone here regularly? huh? confess!

  
hansol laughed and choked on jealousy from the mere thought his twins could touch someone, could let that bloody someone feel the warmth of their tongues.  
\- please, tell me you don’t... - whispered hansol, hugging wonsoo helplessly, feeling how wonwoo pressed in his back with all his weight.  
\- we don’t. you are the first who conquered both.  
\- he’s right, - murmured wonwoo, his fingers slipped under hansol’s sweater, caressing his pleading skin. hansol whined.

his body wanted to know the touches of both boys, their kisses and manners, he died to know what they liked and how to make them happy. the picture of himself was ruined completely - but there was no pain in accepting it. he found them. he found them, and he desired to make them all whole.

  
brothers took him to the bedroom - one bed, _who doubted that they had shared it_? - undressed him, drowning him in kisses. he tried to love them equally, tried so hard, that this barely ripped him apart.   
hansol didn’t know, how brothers agreed on roles they played further in the night, but he was sure they did it on another level of connection - wordlessly, in full harmony. wonwoo took care of hansol’s entrance, while wonsoo didn’t let him breathe, kissing him deep and wet, sweet, passionate. hansol melted, he moaned from wonwoo’s fingers moving inside, and wonsoo drank his voice like a nectar. 

  
hansol had sex before, but this time pleasure took him so much higher, that he accepted everything as due - the pain from wonwoo’s size, the suffocating from wonsoo’s manner of fucking his mouth. they took him from both sides - kneeling, weak, pliable, needing. hansol learned their tastes, their paces, the sound of their voices. wonwoo tortured him, changing between his fingers and cock - both variants drove hansol mad, made him shake, made him hard and wet, made him choke on wonsoo’s cock, rubbing deep inside his agonizing throat. 

  
he misses them so much.

  
how dirty he feels from revealing his sacred desire to be full again, to feel their warm sperm running down his lips and hips - but he felt even dirtier realizing he will never see them again.

  
\- are you joking? are you _bloody serious_? - hansol blinked fast. wonsoo is standing like a black tower between him and his brother. wonwoo sit aside - he didn’t dare to look at hansol.  
\- do i look like i am? - wonsoo is cruel.   
\- you can’t do this to me.  
\- why can’t you leave with us? what are you bound to?  
\- my life. i’m happy here. with you.   
\- you can be happy elsewhere. with us.  
\- no, i cannot! i have no money, no... wonwoo, say something! why can’t you stay here?  
\- because... we’re artists, - but hunsol didn’t hear confidence in his words.  
\- it’s about our career. we must work, we must see the world. you know... to express it right.  
\- why can’t you stay? - hansol repeated looking in wonsoo’s eyes, tearing pieces of skin from him.   
\- because we need more.  
\- more?  
\- more, than...  
\- than _me_ , - whispered hansol. his heart exploded.  
\- wonsoo, for god sake, he doesn’t deserve it! hansol! - wonwoo stood up, his whole existence aching.  
\- don’t you love me? - hansol felt like he was going to faint right away.  
\- i do, - answered wonsoo mechanically.  
\- liar.  
\- i love him, and you do, too! - wonwoo shouted, but wonsoo only waved his hand.  
\- we had nice time together, hadn’t we?   
\- wonsoo!  
\- we do, - hansol tried not to look at wonwoo. it was impossible - to stay there, when all he wanted was to be in his arms again, to hide there from the world.   
\- everything comes to an end, - wonsoo was playing a good guy. he assured hansol that the blood on his hands wasn’t pure.  
\- of course. happy journey to you. both of you, - hansol glanced at wonwoo and stepped away.   
\- farewell, hansol.

  
hansol didn’t answer.

  
\- i-i’m sorry, would you... - hansol turns his head towards the voice. - please, can you... kiss the statue?  
hansol stares at the speaker. the young boy, flame of shame inside. his request touches his heart.   
\- of course.  
hansol closes his eyes, leaning into a cold kiss to a marble. 

  
everything comes to an end, but he is still so far from stopping loving his twin ghosts.


End file.
